Puppy is at peace under the park bench, choosing to sit rather than stand as she eats the fresh cuttings of mowed grass that have fallen on the cement. I let her nibble.
The geometric lines of six sailboats shift on the horizon through the mist. A motor boat putters past; as I watch, it disappears into the horizon. I close my eyes because
other bodies of water in other parts of the world have risen, crashed, wreaked havoc this week in cities and towns I know and love. I say a prayer.
Is it the frantic buzzing of the Luna moth escaping a nighttime newspaper swat or the gentle flutter of the flower garden’s white butterfly outsmarting a storm that is the cleverest?
I have 54,000 emails in my Inbox. One IT man says to ignore them, the next says, Deplore them. Archive!
My eye has a twitch as I lay my head on the pillow. I reach to turn out the light, hear a buzzing and swat. My eye flutters as I watch the moth fall to the floor, then turn to give you a kiss goodnight.